A sea monster lurks
beneath dirty waves.
It rises when I
stare at the water
for too long.

Its body sends a veil
of salty spray
to the ocean floor
and its mouth forms
a great black pit
when it screams.

I imagine myself
swimming,
floating
sinking
inside of it,
unnoticed.

I try to transform
my mind into a compass
that will lead me elsewhere
but gravity pulls me
back to the monster
and its tribe
of tangled tentacles.

I’m unable to unhook
its watery fingers
from my own
so I step into
the seafoam
and lie next
to the monster’s
pruned, pallid body.

It doesn’t attack me –
it doesn’t even flinch.
The monster just sits
with me and observes
the way that starlight
distorts the reflections
of obsidian clouds,
which cling to
the wet ivory moon.